


devil in the details

by foundatlantis



Category: Lucifer (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Drinking, Gen, Lucifer (Supernatural) & Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) - Freeform, Post-Lucifer (TV) Season/Series 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:42:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21526405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foundatlantis/pseuds/foundatlantis
Summary: After Chloe sees his Devil Face, Lucifer gets wasted in a small bar deep in Los Angeles. There, he meets a strange blonde man with a heartbreak of his own, who claims to be the Devil.Lucifer Morningstar has a chat with Lucifer.
Relationships: Chloe Decker & Lucifer Morningstar, Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 6
Kudos: 109





	1. Chapter 1

Lost deep along the veins of Los Angeles, carved into a stuffy street, there was a small bar with glittering, grease-streaked windows and a cast-iron sash on the sill.

A thin, dusty casement studded with stumped candles ran along the bleak brick wall. The bar smelled faintly of whisky, and damp moss, and a sickeningly sweet odour shot through.

'Another!' Lucifer said, and numbly undid the top button on his white shirt. The old bartender cast him an apologetic sidelong glance, and went about it.

'Tough week?' said a man who was seated next to him. He had narrow, sharp blue eyes set deep in his face, and he had cropped light hair. Every next minute, he added to his cup from a glass bottle with a glossy quill through the cork.

'Tough week,' Lucifer said, 'or something of that sort, anyway.'

The Detective had left Los Angeles, melted from his fingers and faded into the bleak mist - he grasped at silhouettes bindly; and desperate, and any could have been hers - and they all slipped from his fingers.

Three days ago she'd seen his Devil face.

'Work?' the man asked, drinking from his scratched glass cup with a metal rim.

'If only,' Lucifer said, taking another glass from the bartender's shaky hand, 'a woman. Or, perhaps, a friend, I suppose. Going through things.'

'Tell me about it,' said the man with a sad look, and drank. Lucifer patted the wooden bar tabletop with his finger in an encouraging manner.

'What about you, stressed at work?' he said.

'At work,' scoffed the man, 'yeah, no. I don't have a job. Well, I guess I do, for now. Not for long.'

'A woman, then?' Lucifer took a deep drink, with a knowing air.

'Angel, actually,' said the man, trailing his finger along the steel rim of his empty glass; then letting the strong glittering drink with cloves trickle down the glossy quill, 'but yeah, sorta. Angels don't really count.'

'I never understood why you humans call each other angels,' said Lucifer, shaking his head, and watched the world shift and flood with drunken mist; the candlelight flickered.

_ 'We _ humans,' the man echoed with an absent expression, 'yeah, you know what, might as well be. Doesn't even fucking matter anymore.'

'Angels are terrible,' Lucifer continued along his own thought, 'cruel, and flamboyant, and, frankly, quite boring, they are. Why don't you ever worship me?'

'Or me,' the man said, 'you know, I had the throne of Heaven in my grasp. Mine. And Hell, as well, mine. And you know what?'

'Surprise me,' said Lucifer, leaning slightly against the glossy, scraped bartop, and letting his heated, burning forehead fall against the gelid glass in his hand. A cold impression shot over his skin; a sobering cold.

'They don't matter,' said the man desperately, 'nothing matters. Pass me a drink.'

With his own numb fingers, Lucifer pushed a glass over the bartop. The cast iron sash creaked and wailed with a low pity - the window snapped shut.

'It seems we're both fucked,' Lucifer said, 'and miserable. I understand. She mattered, perhaps too much, and now she's gone. Maybe I should return to Hell.'

'Wouldn't recommend,' said the man, setting his glass down with a dull click, 'it's a damp, lonely shithole where everyone dresses in somber suits. You humans, at least you've got flare.'

'Not human,' said Lucifer, matter-of-factly, and combed his fingers along his hair, 'but, well, I suppose you're right.'

'Don't go to Heaven, either,' the man supplied, tapping dully along the rim of his glass, 'that, that's a white shithole with no angels, and no one in charge. That one's on me, really. Guilty.'

'It's all on Father, in the end,' said Lucifer, 'from the very beginning.'

'Nah,' the man said with a strange manner, 'this one's really on me. Not my father's fault, for a change.'

'Not yours,' he shook his head, 'mine.'

'What's he got to do with me?'

'Same as with anyone, I'd imagine,' said Lucifer with a sharp smile which melted into a crooked scowl on his lips, 'manipulating. Messing fates up. God's a bitch like that.'

'God's a…' the man stopped short, his lips leaving an impression on the glass rim of his cup, 'what?'

'Oh, religious, are you?' said Lucifer, 'Sorry to break it to you. You're all fucked. Enjoy the news.'

'You one of the mad ones?' the man asked with doubt, 'I can't sense any Grace, and yet… who are you?'

'Ah, you'll love this,' Lucifer laughed curtly, and said, watching the man's face, 'I'm the Devil.'

For a split second, a strange look stole over the man's blue eyes, and perhaps then Lucifer expected he would laugh - then, the man leaned closer. His eyes slid over Lucifer's features in a mist, drunkenly; lost.

'No, you're not, pal,' the man said, 'cause I'm the Devil.'

'Ooh, hello, Satan,' said Lucifer mockingly, 'why aren't you in Hell?'

'Long story,' said the man with distaste, 'why aren't  _ you?' _

'Long story,' said Lucifer, and smiled, 'took a vacation. Permanently, if all goes my way.'

'If all goes  _ the Devil's _ way,' said the man with a bitter chuckle to his own thought, 'that's a new one.'

'So,' said Lucifer, reaching over the bartop and took a lean, misty bottle of coriander gin by its throat. From a bent metal handle above, he produced two fanned martini glasses and held them with fingers laced over the stems, 'you're the Devil, and I'm the Devil. One of us is lying. Now, I don't lie, so it has to be you.'

'Calm down, Sherlock,' said the man, accepting his glass of gin, and sniffing the cinnamon and ginger over the edge, 'you'd make a shit detective.'

'Oh Father, you have absolutely  _ no clue _ ,' Lucifer chuckled. He took a long drink from his gin, and set the glass aside, taking the bottle's neck to his lips.

'Oh my Dad,' said the man, sliding the half-empty glass of gin back over the bartop, 'I hate that stuff. What is it?'

'Gin,' said Lucifer.

'Like a pirate's?' said the man, gesturing for the old bartender to serve him whisky on the rocks.

'That's rum,' said Lucifer absently, watching as the man took a short, broad glass from the bartender - in it, large chips of ice glittered in the low light.

'Whatever,' said the man, 'human stuff.'

'Fascinating, isn't it?'

'Pathetic,' said the man, frowning at his own twisted impression in his whisky. Then, he gave the glass a firm shake, and drank.

'So, whatever happened to the Devil?' asked Lucifer, tapping the rim of the man's glass, 'What lucky angel messed you up?'

'She's called Anael,' said the man bitterly.

'Sounds kinky,' Lucifer smiled, resting his elbow on the bartop, and watching the man's face with his sharp eyes.

'Shut up,' the man shook his head, 'right, what about you, then? Who's the lucky girl?'

'Her name is Chloe,' said Lucifer, after a silent moment, 'she saw my Devil Face.'

'The fuck's a Devil Face?'

'You think you'd know,' said Lucifer, wiping a sleeve over his forehead; for a split second, his eyes flashed in a vibrant red fire, then - it fell quiet, 'well, all in all, she believes I'm the Devil now, so she's left town.'

'Forever?' said the man, who appeared not at all taken aback by Lucifer's eyes.

'Hope not,' he said with a sad note, 'afraid she might be, though.'

'Give it time,' said the man, 'she'll come around. If not, well, there's always another human.'

'Don't want  _ another human _ ,' Lucifer shook his head numbly.

'Try forcing her?' the man offered.

'What?' Lucifer said with distaste, 'What kind of a Devil are you?'

'The real kind,' said the man darkly, in a low, heavy voice. He laced his finger over the neck of Lucifer's gin bottle and pulled it from his numbing fingers. Not allowing for time to smell the gin, he drank down.

'Whatever that eye trick was,' he said, setting the empty bottle on the bartop and getting onto his feet, 'there's only one Devil. You've been fun, though. I think you can live, for now.'

'Oh, you think you're  _ allowing _ me to?' said Lucifer coldly, and began to stand up. In that moment, however, the cast iron sash on the window wailed, and as it swung open, the man was gone. Some girl snapped the glass panel shut. A cold breath of wind kissed Lucifer's pale skin.

'Bloody hell,' he muttered, sitting back down. He looked vaguely around the bar, then leaned onto the bartop weakly and called for the old barman.

Lucifer ordered a tall glass of cold water.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. he's the Devil

The rotting, mossy odor of chipped chalk, soap-soaked wood and rusting metal stirred along the narrow cell. The wattled linen blanket was thin, as though cut of newspaper scraps, and the cold settled in the deep of Lucifer's bones.

'Bloody hell,' he said, rapping gently against the grey grease-streaked tiles on the wall; from where he was laid, over the narrow wooden shelf that ran along the wall of the cell, he saw the other man stir, 'this is ridiculous.'

'Fucking hilarious,' said a man with cropped wheat-pale hair and heavy eyes set deep in his white face, 'laughing my ass off right now.'

'Not much to laugh off,' said Lucifer, sitting upright on the wooden shelf; then, with a strangled sigh, he flapped at the torn, muddied lapels of his jacket, 'oh, not my suit, too!'

'Will you shut up about your clothes?' the pale man said.

'Second suit this week,' Lucifer shot the man a sharp sidelong glance, 'Italian leather shoes, too. Not that you would know.'

'What?' the man said, and a thought echoed in Lucifer's mind that he reminded him faintly of Daniel.

'That getup is visual Ebola,' Lucifer waved a finger at the leather lining of the man's jacket, and the flannel stealing round his sleeves, 'sure you aren't Daniel? That face haunts my deepest nightmares. Dress like him, as well. '

'Do I look like a  _ Daniel _ to you?' said the man softly, leaning back against the cold, grey tiles of the wall which were a sick, foggy matte.

'It's a perfect fit,' said Lucifer, 'oh, very well. What's it, then? Flynn? Oh, Mark, perhaps?'

' _ Mark,' _ the man scoffed, and smiled - perhaps for a second Lucifer thought shimmering tips of fangs flashed, and then they were gone, 'brace yourself, human. You're speaking to the one and only, the amazing, Lucifer.'

'Well hello, nasty liar,' he said, 'I'm Lucifer.'

'Some parents you must've had, mate,' said the man, 'though, can't say I'm not flattered.'

'Oh, nonono,' Lucifer shook his head, leaning forward and watching the man's face, 'one, I'm not your  _ mate _ . Two, what are you on about?'

'Lost in the smarts department I see,' the man mocked, 'oh, well, at least you got looks, pal.'

'I got, I- what?'

'You were named after me,' said the pale man with a note of light mocking, 'get it, honey?'

'I absolutely do not,' said Lucifer, taken aback faintly by the sharp smile that ran deep into the man's face, into his frank blue eyes; after a halting silence, he added, 'who  _ are _ you?'

'Lucifer,' said the man, 'come on, man. The Devil. You must know who I am.'

'I know who you're  _ pretending _ to be,' said Lucifer, 'me.'

'You're not the Devil, mate,' said the man, 'I'm the Devil.'

'Well, you can't be,' said Lucifer, 'know why? Because  _ I'm _ the bloody Devil.'

'You twelve or something, pal?' said the man, a bored look stealing over his sharp features.

'Out of ten,' smiled Lucifer.

'Oh my Dad,' the man's fingers ran along his heavy eyelids, obscuring his frank, bright eyes, his cutting gaze.

'Well, mine, actually,' Lucifer dug his fingers through his messy, black hair, arranging the locks. A sharp ghost of a blade pierced his cheek when he brushed the cut cracking it open; that cut that bled and ran with dried out, reddened mud like rust, and stang.

'You ever shut up?' the man said, rubbing dry, caked flakes of blood off his flanel sleeve.

'Only if you make me,' said Lucifer, putting a sliding softness into his tone; and smiled. Whether it was by fault of hearing or a trick of the faint echo, he heard the man mutter  _ Jesus fucking Christ. _

A soft silence rolled over them, broken by naught but a soft cracking of water dripping down the loose tap in the further corner.

'Well, you can continue with the sulking,' said Lucifer, 'I'd like to leave.'

'Yeah, no shit.'

'Rude,' said Lucifer with mocking; then, he added, 'where  _ are _ we, anyway?'

'I dunno, pal,' the man cut him a tired sidelong glance from underneath his heavy eyelids, 'I dunno. I might, just might be able to figure it out. But you're gonna have to do me a favour, yeah?'

'Mm?'

'Just… shut up, yeah?' said the man, 'A minute of blissful silence is all I need. Well, at least it would be  _ nice _ , for a change.'

'Oh, Luci. If you wanted me silent, all you had to do was ask,' hissed Lucifer softly.

'Well, I'm asking, man,' and then, it was hard to say whether it was by force of the fizzing light or the man's will, his eyes flashed a dim red fire. 

Lucifer bit his tongue; it stang.

❧

'It's Michael, probably,' said Lucifer, his voice heavy with thought, 'yeah, him; or the Winchesters. Although, perhaps not, I suppose; we wouldn't be chatting so nicely.'

_ 'Chatting _ ,' mocked the man who was leaned against the grease-streaked tiles of the wall; his voice was low, in a manner of a tolling bell, and crisp with a British accent.

'Yes, we are,' said Lucifer, 'well, never mind that. Tell me about you.'

'Oh, really?' the British man drawled softly, 'Well, I'm the bloody Devil, how's that for starters?'

'Good,' nodded Lucifer, watching his face, 'anything else?'

'Well, let's see. Three fun facts about Lucifer Morningstar, shall we?' the man's sharp features deepened, his eyes falling dark, 'One, I'm the Devil. Two, I'm Devilishly handsome. Three… oh, well, I'm stuck in a bloody cell in the middle of the world's ass with a torn bloody suit and a creep who claims to be me!'

The British man let out a curt, cutting sigh, steadying himself; leveling his voice.

'Wow,' Lucifer mocked, 'wow. And  _ you're _ the Devil? Don't find me getting  _ that _ emotional  _ that _ quick, huh?'

'Yes, you do rather seem a tad daft,' said the British man.

'What did you just say to me?' Lucifer hissed dangerously, and the very features of his face began shifting. Any softness they had held shed into a dim sharpness, which gave way to a deep, cutting shadow. The tint of his irises fell into a flashing, vibrant red glow.

'You're daft,' the British man seemed, despite an acute interest wrought in his gaze, unfazed; he offered, with a smile, 'and that little trick you did, with your eyes? Was that supposed to be  _ frightening?' _

'Huh,' said Lucifer in a manner of puzzlement; he shivered in unease, and could not take his mind off the way the British man's eyes glinted - not in cowardice, in amusement, 'huh. Never happened before. You not human or something?'

'I told you,' said the man, 'I'm the bloody Devil. And now, now, let me show you  _ frightening _ , shall I?'

A deep, twisted manner of shadow stole over his eyes. His pale face shed its white glow, any flickering impression of divinity he had seemed to have, gave way to a sickening carmine tint. A crackled, lacing web of pulsing veins ran down his cheeks, and low red sank into his skin.

_ Jesus fucking Christ, _ Lucifer thought.

Aloud, however, he said only:

'I'll take that as a  _ no _ ,' he clicked his tongue, 'not human. Angel, then?'

'You actually daft?' the British man's features fell back into the pale, cut out sharpness of frail glass and glittering porcelain, 'For the last time, I'm the bloody Devil!'

'No, for the _last time,_ _I_ am the bloody Devil!' said Lucifer, tapping a finger on his chest.

'Oh, for Dad's sake.'

'Yes, exactly.  _ My _ dad's sake,' said Lucifer.

'Just stop tal-  _ stop talking!' _ hissed the British man; then, he said, 'I don't know what kind of demon you are. I don't know who  _ you _ are, that is.'

'Well, duh, man,' ssid Lucifer, 'we never met. No everyone is pals with the Devil.'

'No,' said the man in his soft accent, 'no, but I know every demon. Everyone who Fell; and after, everyone I created. But you - you, I've never met.'

'Yeah, so?' said Lucifer, 'where're you going with this?'

'Where I'm  _ going with that _ ,' the man mocked his rough voice, distaste fizzling cold in his eyes, 'is that you're not from my Hell. I can sense you're a demon, yet you're different.'

'Different how?'

'Well, your aura, for starters; my demons, their aura bubbles outwards. It's hot, and red, and glittery - gives me a sharp feeling. Yours, on the other hand, is all dull, and smooth, and swallows inward instead.'

'Oka-ay,' said Lucifer, 'okay, pal, I got no clue what you're on about.'

'Didn't think you would,' said the British man with a proud air.

'Hey, that's just-'

The lock in the door wailed in its rusty, jeering voice, and he stopped short. The man across the room straightened on his wooden slab, and cut him a brief glance.

'Sorry to interrupt your little squabble,' said a deep voice, and Sam Winchester stepped through the narrow doorway.

'Oh, you'll be  _ quite _ sorry in a minute,' said the British man, rising from his seat, 'who the Hell are you and what do you want from me?'

'Yeah, tall, dark and handsome here's got a point,' said Lucifer, 'what in Hell would you need  _ him  _ for?'

'It's, well, complicated,' said Sam, 'he's the Devil.'

'No, he's not!' Lucifer said, 'I'm the Devil!'

'Told you, didn't I?' said the man, and a sharp, clear smile passed across his lips.

'Yeah, no, he's the Devil, too,' said Sam, slowly, 'that's why we brought the other one here.'

'I beg your pardon?' the man said, 'He's  _ the other one. _ I'm  _ the one.' _

'Such a drama queen,' Lucifer smiled.

'Oh, alright, clever, let me show you drama queen,' said the man, his voice made darker with the shadow that fell onto his eyes.

'Good luck leaving the Devil Trap,' said Lucifer, pointing a finger towards the ceiling, where two large Devil Traps had been drawn in fresh, glittering red paint, forming over the grey tiles.

'The what?' said the man dismissively, and stepped out of the bounds of the scarlet lines above. 

'Whoa,' said Sam, making a move to shut the door; the man's pale hand fell on the rim of the door, holding it in place.

'No, you don't,' he said, 'not until I leave.'

'You're not going anywhere,' said Sam, struggling to move the door against the British man's grip.

'Who's going to stop me, you?' he laughed mirthlessly, 'I have an appointment with the Detective. Tell my Father, whatever he's planning, I'm over it.'

With that, he dragged the door open against Sam's effort, and stepped outside. A strong hand fell on his shoulder in an attempt to hold him, and he brushed it off like dust. With a final look of distance, he let a pair of ivory, glimmering wings spill into the stuffy air.

'What the-' Sam muttered, however the man had gone in a blink.

The door creaked loudly on its hinges, and Lucifer wondered for a moment if perhaps the man had told him the truth.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another situation, same two Devils; the two parts are not set one after another but rather in separate universes.


End file.
